


A Story About the Potomac

by HugeAlienPie



Series: The Sitcom Verse [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Bisexual Female Character, Cats, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, First Dates, First Kiss, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Relationship, Rowing, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: Bobbi's usual jogging route put her in the path of Jemma and the whole Coulson-May crew. It was a lot more than she'd bargained for. Good thing she thrived on challenge (just ask Lance).





	A Story About the Potomac

**_April 2011_ **

Bobbi was behind schedule. She'd been right on track—a little ahead, even—but then she'd discovered that the cat had thrown up in her favorite shoes, and there went that comfortable time cushion. It wasn't like she was even on a particular schedule; owing to a miscommunication with her lab supervisor, her first batch of samples wouldn't be ready for testing until almost noon, and she had no intention of showing her face in the lab before then, paperwork be damned. She just liked her mornings to go a certain way, and when they didn't, she always felt ever so slightly... _off_ for the rest of the day.

She just hoped she hadn't missed the rowers.

Every morning from basically mid-March to mid-November, _someone_ was rowing on the Potomac. Bobbi tried not to be obvious in her ogling, but there was just so much skin and muscle and _competence_ on display. It was always a gorgeous sight to behold.

Bobbi tried not to play favorites, but there was one woman in particular who she couldn't stop looking at, whenever she was around to be looked at. Younger than Bobbi, but not so much younger that she felt like a skeeze for looking. Long, brown hair always held back and a no-nonsense ponytail. Smooth, pale skin over arm and shoulder muscles that _did not quit_. A quiet but relentless determination in her expression (sheer bloody obstinance, Lance would call it, and he was definitely an expert in that). Plenty of other beautiful, muscular, focused people rowed the Potomac, but something about _this woman_ sent a shiver down Bobbi's spine every damned time. She tried to shake herself out of it—she actually _had_ chosen this route because it offered a good run, not because it took her past a stretch of the Potomac that a lot of rowers used for training as well as competition. But if she was running, and that woman was rowing, Bobbi _always_ looked, as though her eyes were magnetized to the woman's presence.

Bobbi scanned the area ahead of her as she rounded the bend past Key Bridge. Then she paused as her eyes were drawn, not by the rowers, but by a larger than usual crowd of spectators. Not a regatta; the roads and paths were usually cordoned off for those, and Bobbi went by one of her other routes on those days. But something was clearly going on, because there were a lot of extra people milling around watching the shells cut through the water.

Bobbi's footsteps slowed and then faltered as she caught sight of one very familiar spectator. Sure, there were a lot of shaved heads, tall frames, and broad shoulders in this world, but not in quite _that_ combination. Bobbi grinned and stepped off the path to jog over to him.

"Mack?"

Mack turned, eyes wide. Then he spotted her and grinned. "Bobbi! What are you doing here?"

Bobbi waved behind her at the path. "Morning run. What are _you_ doing here? I didn't know you were a crew fan."

"He's not." Bobbi looked over, startled, at the owner of the new voice. "I dragged him out."

Mack rolled his eyes and squeezed the guy's shoulder affectionately. "I was happy to come, Turbo."

The guy (Turbo?) smirked. "Once my parents said they couldn't make it."

Mack pursed his lips, but he didn't argue, so Bobbi figured Turbo must've scored a point. "Bobbi," Mack said, "this is Fitz. Fitz, Bobbi Morse."

Bobbi worked for Tony Stark. She had a lot of practice keeping her face still, no matter what was going on around her or what thoughts were going through her head. She smiled and shook Fitz's hand. "Really great to meet you," she said.

It was true, too. Schedule conflicts and an unfortunate stomach bug last fall meant that she hadn't seen Mack since the day almost eight months ago that she'd helped him pack up his meager belongings to move to a rented house in Arlington. She'd had to hear from Lance that Mack was dating again, and she'd been thrilled. Mack knew his own heart, of course, but she'd been worried about how alone he'd been since Tim died. If he'd found someone who was good for him, then she was happy for him.

But she had to admit that when Lance described the guy as "some Scottish physicist," she'd formed a mental image that involved a graying beard and a tweed jacket with elbow patches. _Not_ a guy who looked even younger than Trip and came about to Mack's chin. But he looked at Mack like Mack was the most of the world and he wanted to be the one who gave Mack the rest of it. And Mack, though he was subtler about it, looked back pretty much the same way.

"Oh, Bobbi!" Fitz said excitedly. "Mack and Uncle Nick talk about you a lot. Good to finally meet you." A garbled announcement came across the water, and Fitz turned. "They're coming." He started picking his way through the sparse crowd toward the water, not checking to see if they were following.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow at Mack.

"Don't," Mack growled.

Bobbi lifted her hands. "He seems sweet. 'Uncle Nick,' though?"

Mack groaned and shook his head. "You ever have a free half hour, we'll sit down with a beer and a piece of paper so I can draw you the family tree."

"I'm still not sure why you're here, though."

Mack gestured toward the river as he started leading them in the direction Fitz had gone. "Fitz's sister is a rower. She's out here every morning, but today's some competition, so we're cheering her on."

Something sparked in Bobbi's gut. There was _no way_ —the odds were infinitesimal. But maybe Fitz's sister, whoever she was, knew some of the other rowers, and—she shook her head. No. Stop. Just... pull that shell of thought off the river, Morse, come on.

"You don't have to stick around," Mack said, as an afterthought, looking at her sheepishly. "If you need to finish your run—"

Bobbi shook her head. "No, I'm good. And I'm not going to pass up a chance to spend time with you." She grinned sharply. "Or your new guy."

Mack glowered and then turned away.

Fitz was standing closer to the riverbank now, roughhousing with a surly-looking teenage girl whose dark hair was streaked with bright blue. Without a word, Mack shouldered Fitz to the side so he could stand between the two, effectively cutting off their scuffle—not that the girl didn't try to reach around him to get at Fitz, which had all the success of trying to wrap a shoelace around a mountain. Bobbi hovered uncertainly behind Mack.

The girl turned, and her expression turned immediately wary. "Who're you?" she demanded.

"Oh," Mack said. "Daisy, this is Bobbi. Bobbi, this is Fitz's other sister, Daisy."

Daisy shoved Mack's arm, fat lot of good it did her. "'Fitz's other sister,' jerk? I'll have you know I am the _star_ of this show."

Bobbi hid a smile in her hand while Fitz laughed outright. That provoked Daisy into another attempted attack, which Mack easily held off with one hand while wrapping his other arm around Fitz's shoulder, effectively pinning him in place. Fitz huffed but seemed happy enough to lean against Mack's side.

Soon enough, the shells were pulling into view, headed past the bridge. Bobbi had no idea who they were watching for, but Daisy and Fitz started cheering almost immediately, and Bobbi joined in out of a sense of camaraderie. When the lead shell pulled even with them, Fitz and Daisy's cheers and whistles reached a feverish pitch—to the point that the well-heeled spectators around them were giving them dirty looks, which Bobbi relished.

"There she is!" Fitz screamed, pointing at the boat. "Go, Jemma!"

Bobbi's mouth went dry. She still didn't know who they were cheering for, exactly, but there in that boat was the rower she'd been distance crushing on like a sad high school girl for the past few weeks. Bobbi wasn't sure she much believed in fate or providence, but if a chance run-in with a dear friend led her to actually meeting this woman, Bobbi would thank _some_ higher power.

Fitz and Daisy screamed themselves hoarse, while Bobbi and Mack cheered a little more sedately, and Jemma's shell crossed the finish line first. The women in the boat slumped over immediately, their shell gliding slowly to a halt in tranquil water. The cheers of the rest of the crowd as the other rowers finished the race cast only the thinnest veneer of sound over the early morning quiet. Bobbi could still hear the cries of birds and the calls of the coxswains as the race drew to a close.

As soon as they could, Daisy and Fitz made a break for the finish line, where Jemma's crew was hauling their craft out of the water. They made such a racket that everyone looked over, exhausted smiles gracing all their faces. The one smiling the widest and calling out, "You are such an embarrassment to me"—yeah. It was Bobbi's rower, all right.

Fitz and Daisy were utterly wrapped up in chattering at Jemma and the other members of her eight, who all seemed to know them. But Mack glanced over at Bobbi, and she could see the moment he put two and two together by the slow, sly smile that quirked his lips. "Your morning run suddenly makes a hell of a lot more sense to me," he said.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Shut up."

He started to say something else, but Fitz looked over then with an absolutely besotted smile, and Mack ducked his head and rubbed the top of it sheepishly, and Bobbi laughed.

Eventually, Jemma's crew got their equipment stowed, and the whole group of them disappeared into the showers. Then there was some standing around while awards were presented, and _finally_ Jemma was bounding toward them, grinning. She pulled Daisy and Fitz into immediate, crushing hugs and then shook Mack's hand very solemnly, though they both had twinkles in their eyes that suggested a running joke under the formality. Then she turned to Bobbi, her brown eyes bright with curiosity. Bobbi preened under the quick but appreciative once-over Jemma gave her as Mack made the introductions—a look Bobbi returned with interest.

Jemma was, in Bobbi's opinion, even more beautiful up close. The proud lift of her head as she showed off her medal for the race, sharp intelligence in her eyes as she and Fitz argued something about the effects of drag and wind speed on their stroke, the lilt of her accent (god, Lance was going to laugh himself _sick_ )—they were all coming together into the kind of person that Bobbi could fall for very easily. She sucked in a deep breath and tried not to get ahead of herself. She wasn't sure she was succeeding.

Fitz suggested breakfast. Bobbi knew she should say no; she was an interloper here, and her continued presence seemed stranger and stranger, at least to herself, the more time passed from the race. But when Jemma looked at her with bright eyes and a wide smile and said, "Oh, yes, please do join us, Bobbi," there wasn't any question as to how Bobbi would answer.

*

Breakfast was at a greasy spoon less than a mile from the boathouse. It seemed like an unusual choice for as focused an athlete as Jemma seemed to be, but Bobbi supposed that if _she'd_ just rowed two miles at what had looked like a nearly inhuman speed, she might want a lot of food, too.

There was a lot of awkward fumbling around seating arrangements. Bobbi cheered internally when Jemma chose the seat next to her. Then Fitz eschewed the empty spot beside Mack in favor of sitting on Bobbi's other side, so that Jemma would see him whenever she turned to look at Bobbi. That felt very deliberate to Bobbi, a suspicion confirmed when Jemma glared at her menu and muttered, "Leopold, _why_ must you be such a relentless clam jammer?" Bobbi spat orange juice onto her laminated menu and ignored the matching smirks from both of Jemma's siblings _and_ Mack while she swiped at the mess with her napkin.

"Great race today," Bobbi said desperately, turning to Jemma and very deliberately not looking at Fitz.

Jemma smiled proudly. "Thanks. It was a struggle most of the way, but we somehow managed to pull the win from our bums."

It was becoming increasingly obvious to Bobbi how drastically she'd misjudged Jemma. Jemma had a wholesome, girl-next-door aura, an almost goody-two-shoes air of industry and determination. But almost every time she opened her mouth, something sassy and a bit sly came out.

This was better. Bobbi didn't mind sweet women—lord knows she'd had a big enough crush on the actual girl next door growing up—but people who could kind of be jerks were really more her style. Witness her five-plus years with Lance.

"I know rowing is _such_ hard work," she told Jemma, "but you guys always make it look so... tranquil."

Jemma gave a snorting laugh that was awkward and kind of ugly-sounding, and Bobbi fell in love with it in a heartbeat. "I'm glad I give that impression, because I'm kind of suffering the entire time." She made a face and sipped her juice. "Being a biologist means I know _exactly_ what every stroke is doing to my body, and why I'm certifiably barking to keep doing it."

"Then why _do_ you keep doing it?" Mack asked, eyebrow raised.

Jemma folded her hands on the tabletop and stared him down without a _hint_ of an expression of any kind. "The deep, soul-soothing serenity of the river at dawn, Alphonso," she said. The entire table exploded into laughter so loud the hostess had to come ask them to lower their voices.

"Your degree is in Bio?" Bobbi asked once they'd regained their composure and the other diners had mostly stopped glaring.

"Degree ** _s_** ," Jemma said, emphasizing the "s." "Bachelors and Masters. PhD anticipated within the next 18 months."

Bobbi blinked. "How old are you?" she asked. Not usually a question for polite conversation, but it appeared she'd miscalculated Jemma's age.

"I turned 21 in September."

Bobbi let out a low breath that was almost a whistle. No, it wasn't Jemma's _age_ she'd miscalculated; it was her _brain_.

 _So_ , she asked herself, _you ready for this_? She looked over and found Jemma looking at her with bright, curious eyes and an open expression, like she was genuinely interested in whatever Bobbi had to say next. _Yeah_ , Bobbi thought, _I think I am_.

After that, they were off. Having biology in common gave them grounds for conversation, everything from their favorite college courses to why working for Stark Industries wasn't the _worst_ thing Bobbi could be doing with her degree ("Even if I sometimes feel like I exchanged my soul for the onsite health care and shelf space in the department fridge").

They talked a bit more about rowing, which led to Bobbi's embarrassing confession about the one and only time she'd tried to be involved in a group sport by joining her division's team in the Stark Industries softball league, a story that had Fitz and Daisy laughing so hard the hostess was giving them The Eye again. _That_ led to Daisy telling an appalling yet hilarious story about the first time she tried out for the women's swim team at school ("I mean, no one had outed me, which was _great_ , but it also meant there was some, like, shrieking? In the locker room?"). Fitz ranted about his latest experiments; Mack updated them on the work he was doing on the house; they all showed off pictures of their pets. Overall, it was one of _the_ most normal meals she'd ever shared with a group of people.

But at the same time, she was constantly aware of Jemma's presence at her side. Jemma was long lines and warm skin, a ready smile that softened, just a little, whenever she turned it toward Bobbi. Jemma was sly innuendo so subtle Bobbi wasn't sure she hadn't entirely imagined it, and flashfire arguments with her siblings, and science babble so advanced even Bobbi had to work hard to follow it. Bobbi felt drunk just from being in Jemma's presence. If they ever got to be _alone_ together, Bobbi knew she would all but drown and would love every second.

There was an awkward and confused moment when they'd walked all the way back to Mack's and Jemma's cars and remembered that Bobbi had joined them mid-jog. For a second, Bobbi thought Jemma would offer her a ride—actually, for a second she was _sure_ that was Jemma's intention. But then Fitz and Jemma had a rapid, wordless conversation, and when it was over, Jemma's shoulders slumped as she offered to take Fitz and Daisy home and suggesting that Bobbi get a ride from Mack. Bobbi was sure her own posture slumped in response, but she understood. She had a tendency to move fast when she was into someone. She'd never seen any point in waiting when she knew what she wanted, but she'd been told, by exes and therapists alike, that that sort of speed didn't always foster healthy relationships. So she could go slowly, if Jemma needed that. Jemma seemed worth the wait.

Bobbi waited in Mack's truck while Mack and Fitz exchanged a _long_ goodbye with a lot of tongue. Fitz looked dazed when Jemma dragged him away from Mack, and Bobbi didn't even try to swallow her laugh when Mack turned around and promptly walked into the grille of the truck.

He climbed into the driver's seat and needed three tries to get the key into the ignition. "Not a word," he grumbled, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Bobbi took a breath to protest but then reconsidered. "I won't if you won't?"

Mack laughed and put the truck in gear. "Deal."

*

Bobbi dropped her keys in the bowl, her mail on the hall table, and her purse in the general vicinity of the coat tree. She kicked her shoes onto the rack, wandered into the living room, and dropped onto the couch with a groan. It had been three days since her breakfast with Jemma and the others, and time had been doing strange things. She felt like she'd spent eleven hours at work—and that was _before_ lunch.

"Rough times in corporate America?"

Bobbi jumped, hand going to her heart. Then she swore and chucked a throw pillow in Lance's general direction. "Asshole, what have I told you about doing that to me?" she growled.

Bobbi loved Lance. She did. Even when they were in one of their "off" phases, he still had a central place in her heart and her life. But she deeply, _deeply_ regretted having given him a key to her apartment. Because some days she just wanted to lie on her couch with a glass of red wine in her hand and the stereo on low while she tried to figure out what to do about her feelings for an amazing, beautiful woman who'd all but fallen into her life— _without_ her boyfriend making a nuisance of himself.

Impervious to her snapping, Lance laughed and crossed the room for a kiss. She returned it sincerely if limply. He stepped back and considered her, hands on her shoulders, head tilted to one side. "You look knackered."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Lance. Judgment noted and disregarded." She squeezed the back of his knee to let him know she wasn't really upset.

Lance laughed again. He sat next to her on the couch and then poked at her thigh until she sighed, turned, and settled her feet in his lap and her back against the arm of the couch. When Lance squeezed the ball of her foot, she had no control over the groan that came out of her mouth at that. "That's what I thought," Lance murmured. He picked up her foot in both hands and spent a few minutes massaging it. Bobbi melted further and further into the cushion, her previous anger at his unexpected presence evaporating under his sure, strong fingers.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked suspiciously.

"Hey, I'm plenty nice," he protested. "I even fed your demon cat." Ah. That explained why she hadn't caught a glimpse of Ivan since she got home. Lance _hated_ cats, and Ivan loved nothing more than tormenting him. Dinner bought about an hour of truce.

"Thanks," she said, letting her shoulders drop another inch.

"Bad day?" he murmured as he switched to her other foot.

"Long," she said. "Lots of ups and downs."

Lance hummed as though he understood—which, maybe he did. Sometimes the man was as oblivious as a plank, but then he could have moments of almost frightening insight when it came to Bobbi and her emotions.

From the kitchen, something beeped. Bobbi lifted her head sluggishly and looked around. "Was that the oven?"

Lance gave her foot one last squeeze before letting it go and sliding out from under her legs. "Just telling me that it's gotten to the right temperature," he said as he stood.

"For what?" He was already walking out of the room. "Lance! The right temperature for what?" The only answer she got was the faint creak of the oven door opening, followed by a bit of clattering, some swearing, and then ominous silence. "Lance?"

"I'm okay," he insisted. "Everything's okay."

That wasn't reassuring _at all_ , but Lance had never burned her kitchen down yet, and she was too boneless from the foot rub to move, so she snuggled down further into the cushions and let him wrangle dinner on his own.

He returned to the living room a moment later, a beer bottle in one hand and—bless him—a glass of red wine in the other. "Here you go, love," he said softly, bumping the glass against her fingers until she took it.

"Thank you," she murmured. She took a sip and sighed happily. Heaven.

Lance chuckled as he sat back down on the couch. He pulled Bobbi's feet back into his lap and rested a warm hand on her ankles.

"So, tell me about this up and down day of yours," he said.

Bobbi lifted her head slightly and squinted at him. "Seriously, why are you being so nice? What did you do?"

To his credit, he didn't even try to look offended by the accusation. "I know it's hard to believe, but there's no ulterior motives here, Bob. I hadn't seen you in a while, and I missed you."

With a start, Bobbi realized it _had_ been a while since they'd seen each other. Their relationship had always been like this: on and off and back on and back off, and even when they were on, they were fairly easy-going—a few dates, a few nights together, never anything all-consuming. They'd been engaged, once, briefly, before they both realized that marriage would come with a lot of demands that they simply couldn't fulfill for each other. So they kept things light, which worked better for both of them. But Bobbi could acknowledge that it sometimes meant that they... lost track of each other a bit.

So Bobbi propped a throw pillow under her neck, sipped her wine, and started trading work stories with Lance. His stories were more exciting than hers, of course—even Tony Stark's notorious whims were no match for what Lance encountered on a daily basis working as a bail bondsman. But they were evenly matched in storytelling skills, Lance's bombast nicely balancing Bobbi's tendency for sarcasm, and before she knew it, her sides ached from laughing and the oven timer was beeping.

"Come on, then," Lance said, nudging her legs out of his lap. "Up you get. Let's sit at the table and eat like civilized people."

Bobbi snorted and sipped her wine as she moved to the table. "Civilized."

"Oi!" Lance called from the kitchen. Bobbi peered into the pass-through and then let her gaze linger as Lance bent over the oven to check whatever was in it. "I'm plenty civilized."

There were _too many_ comebacks to that, so Bobbi just settled in her usual spot at the table and refilled her wine glass from the bottle Lance had left there. Of course, he was sort of his own comeback as he returned to the table holding a steaming casserole dish _in his bare hands_ , like the fucking numbskull he was.

Dinner was a baked orzo dish with chicken and a cream sauce. It was one of Lance's go-tos, and they both tucked in with gusto, happy silence reigning over the table for a few minutes.

Bobbi didn't notice that Lance had slowed his eating until he stopped completely, setting his fork on his plate and looking at her with an amused tilt to his lips.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly defensive and not entirely sure why.

Lance shook his head. "Nothing, really. You're playing with your hair."

Bobbi froze. She hadn't noticed. But sure enough, she had her fork in one hand and a strand of hair wrapped around the index finger of the other. She grinned sheepishly and let go. "Sorry. I'm thinking about cutting it, actually."

Lance's smile widened and sharpened. Bobbi sat up straighter, alarmed. "Ah. That's it, then."

"That's what?" Bobbi asked, eyes narrowed.

Lance picked up his fork again and waved it at her before going back to his dinner. "Tell me all about them."

"Wh—I—what—I have no idea what you're talking about," Bobbi insisted, aware that her face was turning redder than the peppers in the casserole.

" _Bob_ ," Lance said. His voice was gentle but with a slight chiding undertone. "You think that's going to fly with me? You meet someone you're interested in, you start talking about doing something new with your hair. It's a classic tell. So. Tell. Everything."

Bobbi groaned and stared down at her plate, but she couldn't stop the faint smile she felt curling her lips. "Her name is Jemma."

Bobbi meant to be judicious, but it was Lance, so she ended up telling him everything. To her ear, the story sounded charming, but as soon as she mentioned Fitz and Daisy, Lance let his fork clatter to his plate, and he stared at her with undisguised alarm.

"This girl is connected to Leo Fitz and Daisy Johnson?"

"You know them? She's their sister."

Lance whistled low. "Oh, Bob, be careful. That family is..." He broke off and shook his head.

"Is what?" Bobbi set down her own fork and leaned toward him slightly. "You can't leave a sentence hanging like that."

"Okay, look, that girl's father—"

"Woman," Bobbi said tartly. If she had to listen to whatever bad news Lance was going to deliver on Jemma's family, she was damned well going to make sure he talked about her respectfully.

Lance smiled weakly. "Jemma's father is Phil Coulson."

Bobbi's eyes widened. "Stark's Phil Coulson?"

Lance nodded. "Yeah. And her mother founded that gonzo NGO that sends supplies and medical personnel into the world's most dangerous disaster zones. She's also dating General Fury."

Bobbi squinted. "Jemma's dating General Fury?" Jemma had said she was single, but maybe she didn't want that getting out?

"No," Lance said with a slightly hysterical laugh, "her _mum_ is dating General Fury. Which may be worse for you."

No maybe about it, as far as Bobbi could see.

"And the brother—" Lance whistled again, sharper. "He's bad news."

"Fitz? He's a sweetheart." Bobbi shook her head. Lance's work often led him to see the worst in people, but as far as Bobbi had been able to tell, there wasn't much worst to be seen in Fitz.

"No, the other brother. The one nobody talks about. Just—I know you, Bob. You're into this woman, so you'll pursue her. Just make sure you keep your eyes open, yeah?"

Bobbi made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Jesus, Lance, you make it sound like I'm going on a mission."

Lance spread his hands—a ridiculous gesture, as he was still holding his fork. "With that family? You might be."

*

Two more days passed with no communication between Bobbi and Jemma. Bobbi tried not to feel disappointed that Jemma hadn't contacted her. She knew perfectly well that the phone worked both ways. She hadn't contacted Jemma, either.

She wasn't proud to admit it, but her conversation with Lance had her spooked. The more she thought about it, the more _daunting_ Jemma's family seemed to her. Did she really want to go swimming in those particular eel-infested waters?

The Thursday after Bobbi finally met Jemma in person, learned the name and the brain and the heart behind the face (and the arms), Bobbi was back on the river path, loping easily on a stretch with a bit of an incline. She was extra early today; the rowers were just putting their shells in the water as Bobbi passed the boathouse.

It wouldn't be awkward, Bobbi told herself firmly. She wouldn't let it be.

She was a little embarrassed when she immediately recognized Jemma from behind, bending over as she helped lower her crew's shell into the water. Bobbi tried to keep her eyes on the path and not be a creeper, but then Jemma stood and stretched, and Bobbi's eye tracked along the long, smooth lines of her. Then Jemma looked over, spotted her, and _beamed_ , a bright, happy, uncomplicated smile. And Bobbi ran into a tree.

By the time she got herself untangled from the low branches, her face was flaming red, and she was ready to kill—or at least maim—anyone who laughed at her. Only she glanced over at Jemma and saw her hiding her laugh behind her hand, brown eyes sparkling delightedly, and instead of bodily harm, Bobbi pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Jemma an invitation to coffee on Saturday.

Jemma wouldn't see it until she was done, of course—no phones on the river—but Bobbi didn't care. She'd taken the step, and that was what mattered.

*

Holy Grounds was probably the most pretentious coffee shop name _ever_ , but Bobbi had to admit that the people who worked there acted more like they had a religious calling than a job. She got her Americano, ignored the baristas' disdainful scowls as she added cream and sugar, and turned to search for Jemma.

She spotted her on a sleek black couch at the back of the room and grimaced. Normally she would appreciate the sentiment; a couch meant they could sit closer together, making the meeting feel more intimate. But the couches here were notoriously uncomfortable and difficult to get out of—one of the only things the Yelp reviewers were ever able to agree on. Still, bless Jemma for trying.

Bobbi set her mug on the table and perched on the edge of the couch, mirroring Jemma's posture. They had a brief moment of uncertainty—hugs? Cheek-kisses? Was this a second date or a first? But then Bobbi laughed quietly and went in for the hug. Of course it was uncomfortable, given the angle, but the mere fact of the gesture cracked a lot of ice between them. When they separated, they picked up their coffees and slid gingerly back among the cushions.

"I'm so sorry," Jemma said as she adjusted and readjusted themselves. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn't realize the couch was evil."

Bobbi laughed and sipped her drink. "No one ever does. Thanks for meeting me."

Jemma smiled shyly. "Thanks for inviting me."

Bobbi wasn't sure how it happened, but before she knew it, two and a half hours had passed. The dregs of their second drinks were long since cooled, the crumbs of a shared cherry scone sat forlornly on the table in front of them, and Jemma's stomach let out an enormous rumble.

"My goodness!" Jemma exclaimed. She flushed and pressed a hand to her midriff as if she could hold the next one in. Bobbi found the whole thing so endearing she knew she was doomed.

"You want to grab lunch?" Bobbi's mouth asked without a ton of input from her brain. "I know a great sandwich place about half a mile from here." Coffee. Sandwiches. This was Bobbi's laughable attempt at taking it slow when all she really wanted to do was invite Jemma home and text Lance that he'd damned well better make himself scarce for the rest of the day and the night to boot. Maybe even the rest of the weekend.

When Jemma gave her a smile that was both excited and relieved, Bobbi supposed that slow had its advantages.

They were mostly quiet as they walked to the deli, but it was a companionable quiet, full of brushing shoulders and darting looks that said almost as much as words would. Bobbi warmed up inside, tucking away all the touches and glances inside. She liked Jemma more than she'd expected to so quickly, and even if things between them didn't survive this date, she felt a strong urge to do right by Jemma, to be one of the people in Jemma's life who got to share these small moments with her.

The deli used Tarot cards stuck in wire holders to let the servers find the right table when the food was ready. Bobbi and Jemma were already settled at a small booth by the side windows before either of them realized that they'd been given the Lovers card. Bobbi didn't generally blush, but she definitely was now.

But when she chanced a look at Jemma, she was just smiling faintly and spinning the wire between her fingers. "It's not about romantic love," she said softly. "Not really. It's about choice. About how sometimes you have to make a decision and go forward and not be held back by regret and what-ifs about the options you didn't choose." She grimaced slightly. "Or so I'm told."

Bobbi wasn't sure what her expression was doing, but it was probably pretty incredulous. "I—wow," she managed to get out. "I would _never_ have taken you for a Tarot reader." Jemma was practical and no-nonsense (or at least little nonsense; Bobbi didn't think it was possible to grow up in a family like Jemma's and not have _some_ nonsense in your life). Jemma was a scientist. Using cards to predict the future seemed antithetical to pretty much everything she stood for.

Jemma made a pouty face, which Bobbi found adorable, which meant Bobbi was screwed. "Only by osmosis. Daisy started using them a couple years ago. Mostly to piss off Fitz and me, I think. That's a thing she does sometimes."

Bobbi grinned. "That's what little sisters are for, right?"

Jemma grinned. "Does seem to be Daisy's _raison d'être_ most days. But then she really got into them. Not to predict the future, but as a different way of looking at her problems when she gets stuck. She practices on us a lot. I haven't tried to pick any of it up, but..."

"But you have a very good memory for facts," Bobbi offered.

Jemma pursed her lips. "It's very annoying sometimes," she said a bit primly, and Bobbi was so smitten she was starting to embarrass herself.

Jemma kept twirling the thin wire of the holder until the server brought their sandwiches and pried it out of her somewhat reluctant fingers. Bobbi kept her eyes on her plate so she wouldn't try to rush Jemma into whatever she obviously needed to say.

"I—" Bobbi chanced a glance up in time to see Jemma take a deep breath and start again. "Forgive me if I seem naive or unobservant, but my track record with women has been severely hampered by my apparently sizeable inability to read their signals correctly, which is ironic, since I am one, but—" She looked up and caught Bobbi's gaze. Jemma's expression was serious and focused, and Bobbi set down her sandwich and tried to give her full attention back, even though her heart was thundering in her ears and she wanted nothing more than to look away from Jemma's intensity. "Is this a date?"

Bobbi wiped her fingers on her napkin and considered her answer carefully. She had, she supposed, reached the very difficult part of starting a relationship. Not that she was ashamed or embarrassed about her life, but she'd had a lot of promising-looking connections that hadn't survived this conversation. She wanted things to work with Jemma. She wanted it so badly that for a brief, guilty second she considered _not_ having the conversation. But that was selfishness on her part, and Jemma deserved better. "I'd... like it to be," she said carefully. Immediately, Jemma's face started to break into a smile, and Bobbi regretted that she had to keep talking, had to run the risk of wiping that smile away. "But before we say it is, officially, or talk about any future dates that might happen, you need to know something about me."

Jemma's eyebrows winged up slightly, and she said, in a tone that was probably supposed to be much more light-hearted and teasing than it actually was, "Let me guess: you're married." Bobbi snorted, but she must've taken too long to deny it, because Jemma's eyebrows went up even further, and her mouth dropped open, and Bobbi could _see_ the disappointment and betrayal on her face as she said, "Oh my god, you are, aren't you?"

"No!" Bobbi said, maybe a little too late. "I'm not married, Jemma, I promise." She cleared her throat. "I'm polyamorous."

Jemma's expression cleared immediately. Now she was looking at Bobbi with the focused curiosity Bobbi had seen earlier when Jemma was talking about her experiments at school. "Oh," she said softly, seemingly to herself, "I never _seriously_ considered that option. Well, it would've made junior year much less unpleasant, but—" She shook her head and looked up at Bobbi with a faint smile. "Sorry. We were talking about you."

Bobbi laughed shakily. "It's okay." She paused, considering Jemma. " _Is_ it okay?"

"I—" Jemma leaned back in the booth. "I'm not sure. I think it will be. I encountered it in my research, of course, and one of my father's friends—well, that's not important now. I just never foresaw being in a situation where it would be _personally_ applicable."

Bobbi hid a grin at Jemma's clinical approach to the conversation. " _You_ don't have to, you know. You can date as many or as few people as you want. That's kind of the point: as long as everyone consents and isn't getting hurt, _you_ get to decide how many people you date. Not me, and not society."

"Hmm." Jemma bit her lower lip, and Bobbi bit back a groan at the thought of doing that herself. "Yes, thank you, I'll take it under advisement. Now, tell me more, please. I mean, about your own situation."

Bobbi picked at the strings of melted cheese oozing around the edges of her sandwich. Few people had asked her that so bluntly, but she probably should've expected it from Jemma. "I… haven't tended to have more than two relationships at a time. That's more of a time management issue than any sort of… moral compunction." She shrugged. "My capacity to love may be infinite, but my time is not. If I'm with someone, I want to be able to really _be_ with them, you know? Hookups aren't entirely out of the question, but they're rare. Mostly… there's Lance."

Jemma cocked an eyebrow. "Lance?"

Bobbi knew she had her "he's a jackass, but he's _my_ jackass" smile on. "Lance Hunter. We're on and off all the time. I admit it's not always the healthiest. But we love each other, and we're trying, and he's been my most stable relationship for the past five years. I don't see that changing."

"Hmm." Jemma chewed her pickle spear aggressively and appeared to be thinking very hard. "I'd want to meet him, eventually."

Bobbi blinked. "Um… you would?"

"Well, if he's your—primary? Is that the right word?"

Bobbi shook her head. "Some people use it, but I've never felt good about ranking my relationships."

Jemma nodded as if conceding. "Still, he's important to you, so I should meet him at some point."

"Yeah. I—" Bobbi's pulse thundered in her ears. "He's out of town right now. He travels a lot for work. But maybe the next time he swings through town?" She tapped her fingernails against the table, thinking. "He's friends with Mack, if you want an opinion from someone less biased."

Jemma wrinkled her nose, mostly for show and entirely adorable. "I don't know," she said. "I'm not sure I can trust the opinion of anyone who would date my brother." Bobbi laughed, but it was shaky, and Jemma noticed right away, leaning forward and resting a hand lightly on Bobbi's. "Oh, dear, I've said something awful, haven't I? I mean, of course Mack is lovely, and Fitz is obviously smitten with him. I just—"

"No," Bobbi said quickly, shaking her head and trying to put her whirling thoughts in order.

She's had this conversation with _many_ potential partners over the years. Some had fled at the first word. Some had agreed to date her while only superficially accepting this part of her, secretly scheming how to get her away from Lance and into a life of monogamy. People who were already polyamorous had the best reactions, generally, but Bobbi chafed at having to confine herself to those already in the fold.

Jemma's reaction was one she'd never encountered. Someone who'd never been in this kind of relationship rolling up their sleeves and wading into it with open eyes and an open mind, willing to test the outcome. Her scientific outlook at work, no doubt. Still, she needed to make double sure on this.

"The thing is, you're talking about a lot of practical considerations without actually agreeing to date me."

Jemma stared at her for a long, tortuous beat. Then her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh!" she said, and Bobbi watched in fascination as the color drained right out of her face. "I did, didn't I? Fitz says I tend to—" She shook her head and lowered her hand. "Never mind. I'm sorry, Bobbi. Sometimes I have a hypothesis and just can't wait to jump ahead to the testing phase." She tried a smile. "You know how that is."

Bobbi _did_ know, and it made her bristle. "I'm not an experiment."

Jemma's smile vanished. "Yes. No. I mean, of course not. I—oh, I am _surprisingly_ bad at this," she moaned. "Are you still sure _you_ want to date _me_?"

Bobbi instantly moved her hand across the table to grab Jemma's. " _Yes_ ," she said. "Yes, I am absolutely sure."

Jemma's smile returned, a bit hesitant this time but still so beautiful it took Bobbi's breath away. "In that case, so am I."

Bobbi sagged with relief. She squeezed Jemma's hand, and Jemma turned it over under Bobbi's and laced their fingers together. It felt so _right_ that Bobbi never wanted to let go.

"I do want to meet Lance eventually," Jemma said, picking up her sandwich with her other hand and taking a huge bite. Bobbi coughed on a laugh—apparently now that they were dating officially, Jemma felt like she could stop being dainty in front of Bobbi. It made Bobbi's stomach swoop delightedly. She always wanted anyone she was with to feel like they could be themselves around her, whatever that looked like.

"You'll regret it, but okay."

Jemma grinned closed-mouthed around her sandwich, chewed for a minute, swallowed, and then said, "And your cat."

" _That_ you will regret much less. Say, Tuesday night? Dinner at my place?"

Jemma brightened and sat up, wriggling a bit in her seat. "You cook?"

"I've been known to."

" _Brilliant_. I'll be there at 8? I can bring wine. I'm old enough to do that now."

Bobbi _did not_ groan, as much as she wanted to. Five years wasn't a _huge_ age difference (especially since they had Mack and Fitz for comparison), but it felt really significant when it meant that she was now dating someone who was just barely legal to drink. She smile. "That'll be wonderful, Jemma, thank you."

They finished their lunch talking about less freighted topics, holding hands the entire time, laughing over any trouble that caused them. When they walked out of the deli still hand-in-hand, Bobbi never wanted it to end.

But Jemma looked at the time on her phone and swore softly. "I have to go," she said, and when she looked at Bobbi, Bobbi saw genuine regret in them. "Daisy has a swim meet this afternoon, and our parents like us to go to each other's events when we can. I need to at least put in an appearance, and it's a long bus ride."

"I like that," Bobbi said. "I like how close your family is. If you'd like, I could drive you."

Jemma winced. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not sure I'm ready for you to meet the rest of my family. They're—you met Fitz and Daisy. That's plenty for the first day of a relationship. My parents are rough on the people we date. The first time Mum met Dad's boyfriend, she pointed a gun at him and then held a knife to his throat. And Dad is _still_ glaring at Mack, and he and Fitz have been dating for eight months. So, yes, maybe someday you'll meet them, but I wouldn't hold my breath for _soon_ , if I were you."

Bobbi laughed incredulously. Lance had warned her about Jemma's family, but she wasn't sure she'd entirely believed him until now. "You know best," she said, and before she had entirely thought about it, she swooped in and dropped a kiss on Jemma's cheek.

She tried to pull away, but then Jemma was _grabbing_ at her, hauling her in by the front of her jacket, stretching up and kissing her hard. It was heat and sweetness and electricity, with faint hints of dill and caraway. Goosebumps rushed along Bobbi's skin as Jemma's arm slid around Bobbi's back. She raised both of her own hands to cup Jemma's face, to feel the soft skin and hard lines of her cheekbones under her thumbs. Bobbi caught Jemma's lower lip between both of hers as she moved away, and the breathless sound Jemma made in reply made Bobbi lean back in to kiss her again, her tongue darting out for just a taste.

It was a relatively quiet neighborhood, but Bobbi did slowly start to remember that they were making out on a public sidewalk. She pulled back slowly, thumbs still gently rubbing Jemma's cheekbones, resolutely ignoring the disappointed sound Jemma made.

"You should go," Bobbi said softly. When Jemma just stared at her blankly, eyes a bit unfocused, Bobbi laughed. "Daisy's swim meet."

Jemma snapped back together, gaze sharpening, shoulders lifting. "Yes. Right. Daisy's swim meet." She shook her head. "Right."

Bobbi smiled and _had to_ kiss Jemma again. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," she admitted quietly.

Jemma smiled back, but her forehead scrunched in confusion, which Bobbi thought was completely adorable. "We just met last week."

And. Well. Bobbi could lie here, or evade. But she didn't want to. If Jemma thought it was weird, or creepy, or didn't want to see Bobbi again now that she knew, well, that would suck, but it was probably better to find out now, before her heart went and got even more smitten with this woman. "I've been..." She paused, wanting to get the wording exactly right. "... _noticing_ you on the river for a lot longer." She held her breath and waited.

Jemma's frowned vanished. She gave a small, secretive smile and ducked her head for a second before leaning in for one more kiss. She went up on her toes and moved her lips beside Bobbi's ear, and Bobbi shivered at the sensation of warm breath against her cool skin as Jemma whispered, "So have I."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [the_wordbutler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wordbutler/pseuds/the_wordbutler), [Perpetual Motion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion), and [templemarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker) for making me laugh my ass off with vag-centered equivalents for "cockblock."
> 
> why don'tcha [tumbl in my direction](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com)?


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